“Let’s get this over with,” I said under my breath.
Tharan squeezed my gloved hand. “It’ll be alright; we’ll be in and out. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I winced at the words. “You can’t promise that. You do not control the lands of men.”
He hooked a gloved finger under my chin, lifting my face, forcing our eyes to meet. “I swear I will do everything in my power to protect you, Aelia Springborn.”
I noticed the glamour concealed his scar and turned his eyes a dull green. Still, they caused thoughts to empty from my head.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
He gave me a smile and flicked the reins. Arion sauntered forward.
“Good luck!” Amolie called after us. Frost and Winter whined at her side.
The trip to the Ryft took several weeks, through the Woodland Realm, across a slim bit of elven territory to the Stone Kingdom, where we’d cross the Ryft.
I fiddled with the ring, pulling it off and putting it back on. My skin glowed and dulled with its presence.
“You don’t have to be human yet,” I said, looking at Tharan, sporting lackluster auburn hair and pale, freckled skin.
He shrugged. “It’s nice to be unknown in my kingdom. It’s interesting.”
Humans were weak and sickly compared to the magus. As much as I loathed my transformation at times, being part sylph had its benefits.
The hard wooden seat dug into my back as we traversed the snow-laden path. With little to nothing to preoccupy my time, my thoughts drifted to Ryft’s Edge. Chest tight, I dug my fingers into the shoddy wooden seat, trying to ease the pressure rising in my veins.
We stopped to rest on the border of the Woodland Realm and elven realms.
While Tharan hunted for dinner, I built a fire, trying to quell the unease growing in my stomach. I had tried to forget Ryft’s Edge, but every time I closed my eyes, there it returned.
Tharan entered the firelight holding a brace of rabbits and two large wild carrots he found. “How’s this for dinner?”
“Lovely. Care to use some of your magic and conjure us some herbs?”
Tharan waved his hand over a bit of earth. Shrubs of thyme and rosemary burst from the ground. “How’s that?” he asked, giving me a wry smile.
“Impressive,” I said, picking the herbs and throwing them into the pan.
The forest lay eerily silent as we ate our dinner. Lights of the elven city across the border flickered through the trees.
“They call it Stealle. City of Stars,” Tharan said, scraping his tin plate with his fork. The elves thought they were above all others and named their cities accordingly.
“City of Stars, what a bunch of horseshit.” I took a swig of ale.
Tharan chuckled. “When you’re immortal, you pick names you think will stand the test of time.”
I rolled my eyes. “How boring.”
Tharan nodded. “It is true. Everything is more beautiful, more precious when you know it’s fleeting.”
A question floated into my mind and out of my mouth, “Since you’re half-elf, will you still live forever?”
Tharan shook his head, the fires golden light playing across his face, illuminating his green eyes. “I will live thousands of years, but my life will end. There was one other half-elf, half-sylph born before the ban, and we all know how he died.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
He blinked at me. “Crom Cruach.”